The Hardest Part of Love
by Realmer06
Summary: Previously 'In Whatever Time We Have.' 'My fears, existent or not, are not the point' he yelled in return.'Then make them the point' she pleaded. 'God, Remus, for once in your life let yourself feel something for someone' Remus and Tonks talk.


Another Seeker short. I'm just turning out tons of these, aren't I? This is the Remus/Tonks missing moment one that I promised. While it relates back to Remembering the Seeker and the others, it's really not necessary to read those. Unless of course you want to. In which case, I'm certainly not going to argue. wink, wink Okay.

DISCLAIMER: Remus, despite many wishes on stars and visits to wishing wells and prayers to higher beings of power, is not mine. Neither is Tonks, his lady love. His idea of calling her Dora may be mine, but it is certainly not unique. These creatures, and many others, belong solely to Ms Rowling. I borrow them and delve into their minds, but that doesn't change the fact that they belong to Ms. Rowling. Sigh.

Oh, and the title is from a song by Stephen Schwartz in CHildren of Eden, which you should get the words to if at all possible, because it is really quite awesome. You could PM me for them if you really want to.

PG . . . or K+ . . . for a _teensy _bit of language, but it's really nothing serious at all.

Enjoy!

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In Whatever Time We Have

Remus watched her leave the Hospital wing, watched her stalk out angrily, casting one last ferocious glare back at him, as though _she'd_ been the one wronged. He watched the empty doorway long after she'd disappeared from it, trying to keep his expression as blank as he could. He could feel the others in the room watching him, waiting to see what he would do now. It was just like her to get Molly and Arthur and even Minerva on her side. But to make accusations in front of so many people was wrong! To let her feelings burst out so publically, and after such a thing had just happened . . . He was determined not to let any of the others see how angry he was with her. But damn the woman! Could she have been more foolish if she had tried?

When he thought he had a grip on his emotions, he turned to the Weasleys and gave one stiff nod. "If you will excuse me, Molly. Arthur." And he strode from the room. He saw the two of them exchange a knowing glance before he left. He shook his head in irritation as strode down the hall, his anger growing. Didn't any of them understand the seriousness of what had happened? What _was_ happening? They were all so determined to . . . ignore what was going on, or pretend it wasn't serious! And he couldn't let that continue.

He knew where she would go, and he had a few things to say to her when he caught up. He followed the route she had taken effortlessly; his senses were somewhat heightened at the moment, and her emotions left an obvious trail.

He paused for a moment after exiting the main doorway. He saw her storming angrily away across the grounds, towards the lake and the beech tree. His face set in a stony mask, he hurried after her.

When he was within hearing distance, he called out, in an equally stony voice, "I want to thank you, Nymphadora, for what you did back there." She froze, then turned, looking almost as angry as he was. "That display was really quite something, and I want to thank you for doing what so desperately needed to be done. Taking the attention away from the man who had just been horribly crippled, had his life turned upside-down, and placing it where it truly belonged. On us. On you and a minor inconvenience. It was well done, indeed," he said with disgust, sarcasm echoing across the night air. She glared furiously at him.

"How dare you," she hissed. "How dare you accuse me of impropriety after the way _you_ have –"

He cut her off. "If you have a better word for your behavior in there, I'd like very much to hear it."

"How about 'inevitable', Remus?" she shot back at him. "How about 'bound to happen'? How about 'unavoidable'? How about those words, Remus? Are they _accurate_?" she spat.

"Then you should learn a thing or two about control," he told her, temper rising. "Because your behavior back there," he jabbed a hand back at the castle, "was absolutely _inexcusable_! Whatever your problem may be with me –"

"My _problem_?" she shouted in outrage.

"May be with me," he said loudly as if she hadn't interrupted, "you have _no business_ dealing with it in such a setting. Dumbledore's just been _killed_, Dora! Their son could have _died_! Harry's just been through an ordeal the likes of us can only dream of in nightmares, and _you_ chose to selfishly lash out at me! Your actions helped _no one_, Dora. Not them and not us."

"My problem with you," she said, her voice dangerously low, "is that _you_ refuse to do me the courtesy of _talking_ to me!" She shouted the last part.

"I _have_ talked to you, Nymphadora," he said, his voice also dangerously low. "I've talked to you several times, and you still don't understand! You and Molly and Arthur, you all think you understand, but you don't!"

"What is there to understand?" she yelled. "I understand _perfectly_, Remus! I understand that you're terrified to _love_ anyone!"

"My fears, existent or not, are not the _point_!" he yelled in return.

"Then _make _them the point!" she pleaded. "God, Remus, for once in your life, let yourself _feel _somethingfor _someone_!"

But Remus could hold on to his rising temper no longer.

"_Damn it, Nymphadora!_" he thundered, finally losing control. She froze. "The people I care about are _dead_, do you understand that? Anyone that I have allowed myself to 'feel something for,' as you so eloquently put it, are _gone_! I have lost _all_ of them, and I have been left _completely _and _utterly alone_! I lost James and Lily and Peter and Harry and Sirius in _one night_! One night stripped away my brothers, my sister, my nephew, the only people I had in the world! And over the years, I got some of them back, only to lose them all over again! And now Dumbledore is gone, Dora. I've lost him, too. He was like my father, what my father never could be, and he's _gone_. Somehow, I have found the strength to go on. I have been strong enough to leave them behind, but I _am not_ strong enough to lose you, too! Do not, do not, _do not ask me to be!_"

The silence that followed his words rang. He stood shaking, breathing heavily, his eyes closed. He struggled to regain his composure. In a quieter voice, he went on. It was too late to stop now. "You think I've been pushing you away because I don't _care_?" he asked, his voice a harsh whisper now. "Have you really been so blind, Dora? So caught up in your own despair that you've failed to see that simple truth? I care too much. Do not accuse me of not feeling anything for you."

He heard her shaky intake of breath, and he heard the quiet sob, and he opened his eyes to see her crying, shaking with fear at his outburst. He felt guilt wash over him. She hadn't understood, and it wasn't her fault. He hadn't meant her to understand. He hadn't wanted her to understand.

"Come here," he whispered. She raised tear-filled eyes to meet his tired, troubled ones, but she didn't move. "Come here," he repeated, holding his hand out to her. "Please."

She came, sliding into his embrace. He held her close, feeling her shaking as she cried into his shoulder. He rested his head on top of hers and sighed.

"You haven't been hearing me," he told her quietly, his rage gone, replaced by immense sadness and weariness. "It's not your fault; I haven't wanted you to hear me. When I said I was too old, too poor, too dangerous for you, I meant it. But I also meant for you to misinterpret it in exactly the way that you did." Her shaking began to subside, and he could _feel_ her listening to him now. He went on.

"When I said I was too old for you, I didn't mean my age or the difference in years between us. Age isn't measured by the number of years we have spent upon this earth; it's measured by the things we have seen and experienced in our lifetimes, and I am _old_. I am so old. I can't even begin to . . . I have seen so much and I am so _tired_, Dora. I don't know sometimes if there's anything left in me to give. I've been alone so long, and it has aged me." He felt her shift in his arms, as if trying to give him some comfort, but he plunged on.

"And when I said I was too poor, I don't mean the money I have, or rather, don't have. I mean poor in the things that really matter. The things that really mean something. Hope. Courage. Love. I don't know how much of those I have in me anymore. I don't know how much I have left to give out. When I said you deserve someone young and whole, I meant someone who can give you those things, Dora. Though it would kill me to see you with anyone else, that is what you deserve, and I don't know that it's me." She made a sound against his chest, one that could have been laugh or a snort or another sob. He didn't know. But he couldn't stop now.

"And when I said I was too dangerous, it's _because_ everyone I care about has died. And whether or not that's my fault is a topic for another time. They're all gone. I'm dangerous because I've been alone for so long, Dora. I don't know if I'm capable of letting someone else into my life, into my heart. Of trusting someone else. I don't know how to do it." She had raised her head to look at him now, her dark eyes as troubled as his own. He had tears in his eyes, and no light at all.

"Yes, I'm scared," he admitted in a whisper. "I am frightened by what I feel for you. Because it's the strongest feeling I've felt in a long time, and I don't know if I can control it, and that scares me. I think I'd do anything to protect you, Dora, and I know how dangerous it is right now to feel that way." He looked down at her, struggling to find a way to make her understand.

"I don't want to make promises I can't keep," he told her. "I don't want to make promises I'm not sure I can keep." He reached up and traced the side of her face with one hand. "Especially not to you," he whispered.

Her eyes closed briefly at his touch, then opened again. A long look passed between them, and something else with that look. "I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down. He shook his head.

"No," he said, moving his hand below her chin and tilting her face back to look at him again. "Don't apologize for not understanding. Say you're sorry for other things. That this is happening now. That we live in a world and a time that prevents us from being . . ." He shook his head and went on. "Say you're sorry for those things. I do. I am. And I can't -- Please–" he pleaded with her, but there was no need. She placed one finger against his lips and nodded.

"I know," she whispered, though it seemed to him that those were the hardest words she had ever spoken. Her hand dropped, and he opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't. He only nodded. Then, haltingly, not knowing what else to do, he released her from his embrace and began to walk away. Her voice called him back.

"Remus?" she asked. When he turned, she swallowed and said, "When all this is done . . . when it's past . . . could you make promises then?" He smiled sadly at her, then came back. One hand reached down and clasped hers. The other cupped the side of her face as he covered her lips with his.

It was a chaste kiss, an innocent kiss, but it lingered long enough to steal her breath and make her go weak at the knees and leave her with no doubts whatsoever. He pulled away, and she looked up at him in mild accusation.

"Remus Lupin, you are the most self-contained man I've ever met," she said breathlessly. He smiled.

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment," she said. He almost laughed.

"I know," he said. And he turned to leave again.

"Remus?" she called. With good humor, he turned back. Looking at her in question, she concentrated hard and changed her hair back to its pink spikes. He gave her the first unshadowed smile she had seen from him in a very long time. She smiled back.

"Come on," he said gently, and began to walk back to the castle. She followed him. She had no choice.

He hadn't let go of her hand.

* * *

There you have it. Good? Not so good? Too angsty? Not resolved enough? And the big one:

Should I write a final battle fic? One's been forming in my head, but I don't know if I should go through with it.

Review, or the vicious miniature monkeys will find you in your sleep.


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